


It's not happening

by ambitioncutsusdown



Series: Pleasures of Pining [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Just Derek thinking about it now, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Stiles and Derek are still not together, THey do a lot of thinking I know, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:10:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitioncutsusdown/pseuds/ambitioncutsusdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Point is, Derek knows Stiles is good for him. He knows he’s opened up to the teen, whether he wanted it or not, whether he was able to control it or not. It just happened. Stiles had elbowed his way into the pack first, his way into Derek’s life second, and now he’s quickly making his way even closer, no matter how cheesy that sounds.</p><p>And Derek wants it. Craves it. Needs it even, maybe, if he dares to go that far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not happening

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up a bit more feel-y than I imagined, so I'm not really sure how I ended up with this but hey, stream-of-consciousness anyone? Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. (Notes about series at the end)

Derek tells himself it’s not happening.

It can’t be happening.

But even he has to admit he’s fallen asleep and woken up one too many times to thoughts of Stiles to be consider it a normal thing. Just something that happened once or twice. A week. Or more.

Damn.

And it’s not like his thoughts stay rated PG either. No, they are from a completely different kind, filled with Stiles whispering utter filth in his ear, in that same voice he uses to scold the pack for doing something stupid.

They’re filled with Stiles’ fingers, those long digits scraping over his skin, filled with Stiles’ mouth that never keeps still, filled with the freckles and moles on his skin that Derek so desperately wants to connect with his tongue.

There’s always pale bare skin in his dreams, there’s always long eyelashes against eyes that look innocent, though are everything but. Derek can’t read Stiles’ mind, but if he could, he just _knows_ he would be surprised with the things that go on there. He simply doesn’t believe Stiles is as innocent as he seems to be. He’s a teenager running around with werewolves. He has a mouth on him, he’s crude, he’s made it no secret that he masturbates and experiments (hell, the smell is strong enough in his room, nevermind he has no locks on any of his drawers and Derek not-so-subtly went through them).

No, the boy is… filthy. Dirty. Currently the male lead in all Derek’s fantasies and thoughts.

Not that it’s only about the sex. God, no, not at all. Derek knows he’s been thinking about him for far longer. He’s learned to appreciate Stiles. To get used to him. To miss him when he’s not around. His babbling works calming and healing and infuriating at the same time, because Stiles doesn’t shut up. He pushes and pushes and never backs down, and even if things go wrong, he keeps his head up and deals with whatever comes next. He’s pushed Derek and Scott into talking with each other instead of to each other. He’s forced Derek and Isaac into deal with their pasts, because even though their stories are different, the way they’re dealing is similar in some way and Stiles gave some speech about how shared grief is half grief. Derek thought it was complete bull, but even he has to admit that his friendship with Isaac is better, that Isaac seems happier, and that Derek himself… well… he doesn’t know if he’s better. But he certainly isn’t worse.

Point is, Derek knows Stiles is good for him. He knows he’s opened up to the teen, whether he wanted it or not, whether he was able to control it or not. It just happened. Stiles had elbowed his way into the pack first, his way into Derek’s life second, and now he’s quickly making his way even closer, no matter how cheesy that sounds.

And Derek wants it. Craves it. Needs it even, maybe, if he dares to go that far.

So no, it’s not only sex. Though it’s a part of it, because Derek would’ve never been able to admit all of that, if he hadn’t had so many dreams about Stiles where he woke up hard and jerked himself raw to the image of Stiles.

Which is kind of the same position he is in now, his cock straining in his briefs, his palm pressing down on it while he’s gasping for breath.

Again.

For the third time this week and it’s only Thursday.

He doesn’t think he’s ever wanked so much since he was fifteen and first found out about this glorious thing called masturbation.

Certainly not after, you know, a certain person.

Who doesn’t matter.

Because Stiles is not her and never will be.

The only similarity between her and Stiles is that they’re both human. And that Derek is willing to give himself as open to Stiles as he was to her, with that difference that Stiles won’t hurt him.

He doesn’t exactly know how Stiles feels about him, but he isn’t blind. He’s noticed the looks, the way Stiles’ heartbeat changes just that little bit when he looks at him, the way his blood pumps in his pulse. It’s not fear. Derek knows fear. It’s something different, though Derek cannot pinpoint if it’s want or attraction or lust or interest or infatuation or something else. Or all of that.

But at the moment, it doesn’t really matter to Derek, because he can look at Stiles and imagine. He can imagine it is want and lust and need. He can imagine that blush on Stiles’ cheeks is there because he’s hot for Derek.

Fuck, yes, can he imagine that. And he does, while touching himself and letting out soft gasps and keens that he hopes no one hears.

He can imagine pressing the moles on Stiles’ skin, can imagine having the teen under his hands, kissing him breathless. Touching him in all the right places. Learning all those right places. Learning together with Stiles what they want and what they like.

Maybe the other likes kissing. He probably does, Derek thinks. It’s intimate, and it requires Stiles to use his mouth. He’s probably a big fan of making out.

Derek imagines pressing Stiles down on the mattress, not to control him, but to bring him as much pleasure as possible. Kissing and licking him all over, marking him with a layer of saliva, which sounds gross in any context with someone else, but it doesn’t sound gross relation to Stiles. Quite the opposite, actually. It sounds pretty much like heaven.

Letting his hand slide underneath his underwear, Derek moans quietly. He brings his other hand to his mouth, biting down over his palm in the hope to muffle most of his sounds. Quiet. It’s something he learned long ago. House full of werewolves and all that. He can do quiet. Hell, quiet is what he’s known for.

In contrary to Stiles. Stiles doesn’t do quiet. Stiles talks. And moans and whimpers and keens. Well, hopefully. Derek wants to find out all of those sounds, wants to take them in and savor them and drown in them. Wants to have them, to own these sounds and make them his.

Wants to make Stiles _his_.

His fingers tighten around his shaft, hips bucking up in the air, and for a moment, it feels like the breath is punched right out of him.

Where did that came from?

He wants to make Stiles his.

He wants to mark the teen, claim him, show the rest of the world he’s taken. Wants to take care of Stiles, to be everything he needs. Wants Stiles to belong to him and wants to belong to Stiles himself. Wants to be marked and claimed by the teen as well. Wants to be one.

One.

With Stiles.

Another moan falls from his lips, and Derek knows he’s lost. It’s all Stiles, only Stiles, and nothing else anymore. His fist flies over his cock, so quick the motion is nothing more than a blur.

Stiles. Beautiful, gorgeous Stiles. Derek wants to have him. Needs to have him.

His arm is cramping, but Derek doesn’t really care, because he needs. He’s so close, he can already feel the familiar burning in his spine, he’s nearly there, and he imagines Stiles being right there on the edge with him. Imagines Stiles tumbling down said edge, the noise he would make when he comes. Imagines thick ropes of come hitting his stomach. Imagines them hitting Derek’s stomach. Imagines Stiles painting Derek white, marking him and scenting him so everyone would smell Derek belongs to Stiles and Derek _wants_ to belong to Stiles, wants nothing more.

His back arches off the mattress in a nearly perfect bow, a small sob punched out of his chest when his orgasm finally sneaks up on him, all muscles in his body tensing before relaxation takes over and Derek goes limp, the only moment that of his chest heaving up and down to gulp down air.

Yeah. He wants Stiles.

And Derek knows he never gets what he wants, but he’d be damned if he isn’t going to try.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> So idk I kind of decided to maybe turn "It's Derek's fault" in a series and this can be seen as a follow up? Can also be read as a stand-alone, but I'm (maybe) planning on adding other stuff. I'd also like to say that I'm horrible at finishing things, so if there's never a follow-up... I'm sorry. But I'll try.


End file.
